


I'll get you through

by Tiisshu



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Caretaking, Caring!Geralt, Fever, Sick!Jaskier, Sickfic, Sickfic Trade, Sneezing Kink, Sneezing fit, feverish, sneezefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiisshu/pseuds/Tiisshu
Summary: Jaskier doesn't seem to be forthcoming as his body seems to be coming down with something. It does not go unnoticed by a certain Witcher but said Witcher is not exactly sure how to proceed.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

It’s before Dawn when Geralt awakens to the silent darkness of their humble camp, silent that is, save for the soft snores drifting up from the Bard to his left. Usually sleep is when Jaskier is blessedly quiet, so the fact that Geralt can pick up on the noise causes him pause.

There is also the fact that in the night, the bard has shuffled in his bedroll enough to be practically pressed to the Witcher’s side. This normally would have garnered no more than an eye roll and something akin to fond exasperation. However, despite the lack of a fire, Jaskier seemed to be pumping out more heat than usual. In fact, Geralt’s side closest to the sleeping man felt almost… Clammy.

“Hmmm…”, he hummed to himself.

There was something else…

Geralt sat puzzled for a few moments trying to identify something in the dark.  
Not by sight, but by scent. It was a curious thing he thought, usually Jaskier wore whatever cologne was in season and under that the bard had a sort of fresh crisp scent like the forest after a rain.

Now however, long after the cologne had worn off, Jaskier’s natural scent seemed to have picked up a cloying bittersweet edge.

He wasn’t sure what it could be but He didn’t ruminate on it long knowing they would have little time to spare this morning before they broke camp and already Geralt had dallied too long.

With a stretch he began to pack up his bedroll and then went to gently tend to Roach who eagerly accepted the few pats the Witcher extended while his focus subconsciously returned to the sleeping Bard.

. . .

It wasn’t until some time later as the sun began to creep above the horizon and breakfast was well on it’s way that Geralt regarded the young bard again, brows furrowed, it was true that Jaskier often complained of their early mornings but he never managed to fail to appear at the fireside blearily awaiting his portion come this time.

Once he’d removed the pan from the fire and had divided their meal, Geralt rose with a sigh.

All at once, as he approached Jaskier, Geralt was overcome by an icy-hot prickling sensation between his shoulder blades- an anxiety he associated more with the hunt than a simple task of waking his companion.

With a squeeze of a shoulder and his name uttered low in that familiar growl Jaskier was roused groggily from sleep.

Geralt noted the way the bard blinked and looked about him a moment as if he had forgotten where it was he had gone to sleep.

Jaskier gave a little cough and rubbed at his eyes before turning those sky blues upward to his friend.

“Nng, Mornin'… already..?”, Jaskier asked slowly, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes as he talked around a yawn.

A minute crease formed high on the bridge of the Bard’s nose a moment before he reached up to rub the back of a knuckle beneath it.

With a scrunch of his features though, Jaskier dropped his hand having reconciled himself to the process, and tilted his head back just as his mouth dropped open to snatch a quick breath before-

Hih!- Hng'iixsshu! Heh!… Hih!.. INGXXH'TSUU!  
Which he smothered in the rough fabric of his blanket, raising his head a moment after looking like the double had rattled something loose leaving him sniffly and pink faced.

Geralt felt that white-hot prickle creep further up his spine but even when he knew he should broach the subject the words simply wouldn’t come out.

Finally, he managed to spit out “Breakfast” in what he hoped wasn’t as sharp as it sounded.

Jaskier startled at the suddenness of his voice almost like he had managed to fall back to sleep in the meantime.

He groggily smiled up at the Witcher and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

“ Suh-..Sorry, didn’t mean to sleep so late”, he apologized as he stiffly extracted himself from his bedroll with a sniff and began to pack up.

Geralt hummed and returned to his seat by the fire, taking up his plate, he waited until he caught Jaskier’s eye again to look pointedly at the other spot near the fire with the waiting plate.

Jaskier huffed a laugh, stifling the cough that tried to follow and dropped his blanket and took the seat opposite Geralt at the fire and began to pick at his food.

This too did not go unnoticed.

. . .

Breakfast was light and it was quiet between the pair save for the occasional sniffle that Jaskier was trying to be discreet about as they ate and soon they were busy breaking camp, Geralt arranging things in Roach’s saddlebags with care as Jaskier went to the stream to wash his face.

Geralt was just getting settled in Roach’s saddle when Jaskier reappeared at her other side shivering.

He looked incredibly chilled and yet smiled brightly when he caught the Witcher’s eyes on him.

“A-ah..Alright there, Geralt?”, Jaskier asked through chattering teeth.

Geralt had heard more than saw the way the bard was shivering and trying unsuccessfully to hide the distinct sound of sniffling.

He rolled his eyes skyward and wondered yet again what he had done exactly to warrant the Bard’s company on this particular hunt and why Jaskier couldn’t simply be satisfied with the details he was given later.

He’d be warmer in any case and Geralt would have one less thing to worry about.

Though in Geralt’s opinion, Jaskier would have been better off if he were anyone other than Jaskier.

For one, he thought the younger man had done a piss-poor job of drying off after splashing around in the river and he rummaged around in one of the saddlebags until he found a clean square of fabric- which he tossed directly into the bard’s face without warning.

“Dry off properly”, he rumbled.

Jaskier squawked at the sudden assault, “G..Geralt! What the hell-?”.

“You’re shivering”.

Jaskier furrowed a brow up at him but the Witcher saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth and the way his nostrils flared from whatever tickle the bard seemed to have but surprisingly had yet to mention.

“ Why Geralt, is-s that concern I see on that sto.. -hih…s-stoic mug of yours?”. Jaskier followed the question with a seesawing of his breath that lead to another sneeze which the bard strangled into submission with a pinch of his nose last second.

Hih-Huh'Esxxt!

Geralt said nothing and spurred Roach into a trot leaving Jaskier scrambling to swing his lute up on his back and get into place beside them on the trail. 

“Alrighd, alrighd- I didn’d mean anything by id. Gods you’re moody this mornig”, Jaskier commented stuffily as he used the handkerchief to wick the moisture off his face and neck.

“Pidy that”, he commented with a muted sniff as he pocketed the fold of cloth. “Feld nice and cool”.

…

That afternoon they stopped by a river to refill their water skins and allow Roach a few moments to graze.

Geralt was busy with the task while Jaskier set his lute down by their gear and went to lean against the trunk of a tree in the shade.

After a time Geralt capped the water skins and secured them in a saddlebag giving Roach a good scratch behind the ear.

He took a moment to speak softly to his mare before he noticed that Jaskier had in fact fallen asleep where he lay.

The Witcher tilted his head to the side a degree, golden eyes darkening as he furrowed his brow.

He wasn’t sure what it was that struck him so, but he couldn’t remember Jaskier napping before… surely he had gotten enough sleep?

He thought back to how the bard had turned in early the night before, almost right after supper, and frowned.

Geralt’s frown deepened as he approached the bard; Jaskier had looked like he had merely fallen asleep with his arms crossed but as Geralt got closer he could see that the younger man was in fact shivering slightly and was holding himself for warmth.

Geralt tilted his head back and raised his eyes to the tree’s branches where dark leaves sat motionless.

No breeze, and yet…?

Geralt grabbed one of their blankets and draped it over his companion and then took a seat.

It bothered him deeply that they were stagnant in their travels but that seemed to be fighting for the spot of top priority with the sinking feeling that the bard was coming down with something.

Something he could even smell multiplying in the young man’s system. It was unnerving to say the least as Geralt realized he wasn’t well versed in caretaking when it came to illness. Field dressings and wounds were so common place that he almost would have preferred Jaskier was injured instead.

With an awkward rub to the back of his neck, Geralt considered how he might approach the bard in regards to his obvious decline.

The Witcher was not particularly loquacious and he was very aware of that. He heaved a sigh when he realized Jaskier would probably misconstrue the Witcher’s intentions and become upset- afraid he was being left behind.

The bard in question snuffled in his sleep just then, as if he could tell what the Witcher had been thinking, and tossed his head with a grimace.

His nose was running slightly in his sleep and he had a sort of sadness to his features even in his sleep that Geralt had to look away at first.

Nightmare, Geralt reasoned, tentatively reaching forward to smooth the worry away from the younger man’s forehead when he’d composed himself, the dry heat his palm was met with wasn’t surprising but it certainly was no comfort to the Witcher.

He’d have to keep an eye on the fever and they were currently at least a couple days ride to the nearest healer… Geralt knew what needed to be done and they were not far from the river which was a small comfort so he rose quietly stepping away from the sleeping man to stow his weapons and remove his chest piece.

After he was unburdened he grabbed his smaller alchemy bag and tucked a rag into his belt and began to head toward the river when he paused, casting back a final worried glance.

He would only be a few minutes, enough time to gather a few water-loving herbs that had antipyretic properties if the bard could stomach it but the idea of Jaskier waking to no one left a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’ll be right back…”, he says, more for his own benefit.

…

Geralt was rapidly becoming frustrated.

It didn’t take long for him to identify recent footprints in the mud along the banks of the river. Someone had been through there a few days prior. Been there and had harvested every herb of use in the immediate area.

Geralt closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he let out a growl of frustration, tossing the mangled refuse of whoever the careless Alchemist had been. 

He tried to reign in his anger, which he knew was poorly disguised worry.

There were still options yet, but this was the most likely to provide sufficient relief. Geralt, who often suffered fevers from various injuries over the years felt another pang of sympathy.

He remembered the bone aches and weakness, a sense of having no balance and the growing desire for the universe to swallow him up so it would end. 

Luckily, his Witcher’s constitution made the process short lived.

Jaskier wouldn’t be so lucky. And speaking of…

Geralt trudged up the small embankment toward their camp but stopped suddenly when a slight breeze brought a sharp scent of fear mixed with that cloying bittersweet smell he had detected from Jaskier earlier.

He swore and broke into a run, he arrived a few moments later at their camp where the Bard lay tangled in his blanket, wide fearful eyes brimming over with tears as he shuddered from a full body chill.

He instinctively recoiled from Geralt’s encroaching form and stared at him without recognition.

“Jaskier…”, The Witcher breathed, careful to slow his movements. He lowered himself to his knees to reduce his natural looming stature.

He tried to remind himself that it was the fever but the sting of fresh hurt licked at the edge of his composure.

The bard hadn’t taken his eyes off him, hadn’t spoken, but Geralt detected the first few wavers of his breath beginning to hitch before Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to a punishing sneezing fit.

Geralt shook his head almost fond as he registered the slight look of dismay cross his friend’s features when he went to cover and found his limbs still fully entangled.

Hih-uh.. Ahh'Sssshhiew! Hhh! …heh..hih'Tshiew! *snf* hih'…Hae'esshiew! Hishhah!.. Hng-Nngxxt! HnngSSHIEW! Nghh..Hih…heh…

As Jaskier was left hitching, Geralt had closed the distance and knelt next to the bard and had begun to mop his face up with the rag he still had while he spoke in a hushed voice he hoped translated as soothing to the fevered man struggling to recover from the strenuous effort of his affect sinuses.

“It’s alright, you’re alright. Here- just… let me…”, he tried as he untangled the blanket, he also took the opportunity to place one curious hand at the base of Jaskier’s neck.

He grimaced and began to move faster, skilled hands extricating the blanket from the bard’s white-knuckled grip.

“You’re too hot!”, he said by way of explaining, the silence that followed instead of one of Jaskier’s jokes made him feel almost ill himself.

Jaskier whined, snuffled wetly before turning his head too fluidly for Geralt’s liking but the recognition - though only brief- in the bard’s eyes was enough hope to spur on his careful ministrations.

With one of his patent hums, Geralt maneuvered them to where Jaskier was positioned between his legs with his back leaned against his chest while the Witcher used the rag wet from one of their water skins to cool down as much of Jaskier that was exposed in hopes that it would help.

“G…Geralt?”.

“There you are”, Geralt rumbled softly.

He felt when Jaskier finally relaxed against him, his body seemed to bleed the tension as easily as it had coiled itself into such a panicked state earlier and Geralt heaved a sigh of relief.

“I couldn’t fix it, but I’ll get you through”.

Jaskier sniffled and leaned his head back to look up at Geralt, his eyes were tired but much clearer.

“I'mb sorry…”.

Geralt actually startled at that, but knew deep down that this was the reason Jaskier had not bothered to mention his discomfort.

True to form, Geralt had no words. How does one respond to something so… wrong?

His head was still reeling from the sound of his friend’s voice. It seemed he was so distracted by the various symptoms he was sensing that he hadn’t noticed the major tip-off.

These few words where the first he’d heard from the normally chatty bard since that morning when he had awoken him. It was enough to leave him feeling fevered himself.

Finally, He simply placed one large reassuring hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and gave a squeeze.  
Jaskier, after a moment, raised one shaking hand to give it a squeeze back before he settled into a restful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next couple of hours the pair sat as they were, Geralt applying cold compresses to the bard's face and neck and encouraging words (he hoped) everywhere else.

Jaskier for his part, weaved in and out of lucidity, sometimes chatting amiably despite the weakness and congestion in his voice and then others he barely had enough energy to remember his own name.

It was during those times that Geralt felt the most overwhelmed. Though, it wasn't the fever or sudden weakness that sent tendrils of dread deep within his chest each time the fever spiked.

It was the loss of recognition and how the scent of abject fear poured off Jaskier so suddenly that it gave the Witcher the same sensation of water slipping through his grasp. 

He was used to being bombarded by the scent of fear everywhere he went. Those he hunted and those that paid him to hunt alike. But the Bard was different, he had never been afraid. Not once.

Geralt hates it. Feels his stomach clench at it’s sour edge and never wants to scent it again on his friend.

Jaskier moans when the witcher instinctively tightens his hold on the bard when another nightmare begins to plague him.

"Shh Jaskier... You're alright", He says lowly, reassuringly he hopes, as he forces himself to loosen his grip.

He feels the way Jaskier's breath begins to hitch weakly and feels when the bard finally comprehends that he's suddenly awake, bracing one of his large hands against Jaskier's chest to keep the bard pressed safely to him.

With all the coughing and sneezing he had done, the bard had complained earlier of the muscles along his side cramping. Eventually ending each function with a pained whimper until the Witcher thought he would go mad from the sound. Geralt aimed to try and relieve some of the backlash now if he could.

Not that Jaskier had a violent sneeze or anything but rather that the fever had sapped so much of his strength that Geralt worried he'd go off-balance anyway and that he'd tear something in the muscle and be worse off for it.

The bard managed to moan, annoyance threading through his soft pants, before the dragging sneezes finally came forward.

Hih'... Hh-! ...Hh- HDT'ISSSHIEW Nngh...Hh-! ...hih... Hihh'Yiishhuu!

Geralt grimaces slightly, the sneezes catching him flush against the hand pressed to the bard's chest. With a sniffle Jaskier looks up at him owlishly his fevered mind attempting to remember how to convey his embarrassment. The glassiness of his eyes gives Geralt pause before he remembers himself.

He tuts at Jaskier for even bothering to waste the energy worrying about it. He also makes a mental note that while a different hold would be ideal, the whole process had in fact helped.

Jaskier brought one hand up to knuckle at his nose, sniffling wetly but without irritation. He settled quietly back against the Witcher again, already drifting back to sleep as Geralt returned to wetting down his Face and neck.

The Witcher kept this up tirelessly and in the early hours before Dawn the fever finally broke. It was subtle at first, Geralt noticed a shift first in Jaskier's scent- that bittersweet edge giving way to simple perspiration.

Shortly after, as Geralt made another pass with the cold cloth, Jaskier finally surfaced from sleep. His eyelashes fluttered as he groggily tried to get the scene before him to clear. It was only when he accidentally thumped the back of his head against Geralt's chest that he realized where he was.

"G..Geralt-?!", he exclaimed so suddenly that he ended up launching immediately into a harsh coughing fit. The Witcher hauled him into a better position for breathing and thumped him on the back.

"Take it easy, your fever only just broke".

Jaskier panted, trying to regain his composure, he swallowed around a sore throat and took a steadying breath. The look he then gave the Witcher was so unreadable that Geralt almost balked at his expression. Uncertainty marring the glitter of gold as he searched the bard's face.

"What's wrong?"

"Geralt of Rivia, you absolute sweetheart, you! Imagine the coin I'll garner when I sing the praises of the Nursemaid Witcher who nurses his ailing best friend through the night!", he chirps cheekily, already his personality outstripping the need for a normal thank-you.

A muscle jumped along the Witcher's jaw before one corner of his mouth lifted, relieved really, into a small smile.

" and just who do you think is going to believe you?"


End file.
